by Antonia Rachel Ward
I swam into the cavern’s mouth. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like razor teeth, sharp points skimming the water’s surface. As I pushed forward, the sparkle of sunlight on the ocean dwindled, leaving me in darkness. I turned on my headlamp, and it lit my way with a pale green glow.
The cave grew narrower, the ceiling lower. The chill of the water surrounded me, clutching at my chest. A few meters ahead, the corridor of rock became barely wide enough for me to push through. The top of my head brushed stone. I thought about turning around, but when I tried, I found there wasn’t room. I could go forward, or I could try to swim in reverse. Those were my only choices.
Hoping that the cavern would open out, I chose forward, until the air-space was barely big enough for me to keep my mouth above water. Panicking, I wriggled backwards. My belly scraped the rock. My foot caught on something. Stone pressed on me from all sides, clamping me in a vice. I couldn’t move an inch. And that was when I realised:
Nobody even knew I was here.
ANTONIA RACHEL WARD is a writer of horror and speculative fiction based in Cambridge, UK. She is also the founder and editor-in-chief of Ghost Orchid Press, and a bit of an obsessive music fan. Her stories have been published by Black Hare Press and Quantum Shorts.
You can find her at antoniarachelward.com, on Twitter @antoniarachew1, or Instagram @antoniarachelward.
